Happy birthday to meeeeeeeee.

Clearly I’m not the kind of girl who hides that it’s her birthday. I’ve reached the age, too, where if I tell you how old I am, you won’t believe me and assume that I am lying and am indeed older. Today I’m 29. I’ve known so many thirty-plus-year-olds who claim to be 29 that I wouldn’t believe you if you told me that was how old you were, either. So there we go.

Mr. Pea gave me my gifts last night because we have to head out of here in just a little while. And my suspicions were correct! He gave me a sweet little Italian coffee pot, which I used this morning, but only after waking him and the neighborhood up by knocking a jar of wooden spoons onto the metal trashcan and the floor. I have not gotten any more graceful with age, I’m afraid.

I decided to make myself a fine little breakfast this morning. So I brewed myself some espresso (that little snowman cup is the smallest mug I have, so it’ll have to do even though it’s going to be in the eighties today), toasted up some of the bread I baked yesterday, and scrambled a couple of eggs. The eggs were first beaten with a little milk and two small, minced basil leaves; a teaspoon or so of parmesan was tossed on while they cooked. Yum! I ate it with some of those black cherry tomatoes. There aren’t many of those left, let me tell you. I’m hoping this will all keep me full so that later, at a cookout at my mother’s, I’ll leave the chips and whatever else alone. Though I’ll have to make an exception for cake 🙂